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Asmo was in the middle of supervising another one of Mammon’s shoots when his phone starts vibrating, signaling a call. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, really, not with his line of work so he doesn’t think much of it when he pulls his phone out of his back pocket, but the name flashing on the screen does prompt a raised brow. 

He eyes the name on his screen, wondering why Satan, of all people, would be calling him—in the middle of a work day, nonetheless. Asmo saves his questions for later and excuses himself from his colleagues, moving to a quiet part of the studio before answering the call. 

“What took you so long?” are the first words off the receiver. Asmo rolls his eyes.

“Unlike you, I was actually working,” Asmo shoots back, huffing. “Anyway, did anything happen? Why’re you calling?”

“Oh, right,” says Satan, voice taking on a mischievous tone. “Hey, do you mind going on a date with Solomon next week? It’s for his highschool reunion.”

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but being asked to be Solomon’s date to a highschool reunion was the farthest thing on his list. 

“Oh!” Asmo says, a little taken aback. He doesn’t think much of it when he says, “I mean, yeah, sure?”

“Great!” Satan says, and before Asmo can say anything else, Satan drops the call. 

Asmo removes the phone from his ear, staring at the screen and questioning whether any of that really happened. Only the voice of the photographer has him out of his daze, and he pockets his phone before going back to work. 




Later that night, just as he was about to head to bed, his phone rings. A glance at his phone screen tells him it’s Solomon and he can already guess why Solomon was contacting him so late at night.

He answers the call.


“Hey,” Solomon says casually. “Sorry about earlier.” He sounds sheepish, almost. Asmo finds it weirdly cute. “You can still say no if you want to.”

“Oh! No, it’s fine! I don’t mind at all!” Asmo reassures him hurriedly, feeling oddly flustered. “I was just a little surprised, actually. I didn’t expect that at all.”

Solomon laughs at the other end of the line. “You can blame Satan for that.”

“Yeah?” Asmo says, voice playful.

“I mentioned how I didn’t have a date during lunch, and before I knew it Satan was already asking you to fill the spot for me.” He sounds exasperated, but Asmo can hear the underlying fondness in his voice. 

Asmo huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “That sounds like him,” 

“Uhuh.” A pause. “So, it’s a date then?”

Asmo doesn’t know why the question makes him feel giddy but it does and it’s kind of nice but also kind of annoying. Why is he excited over this?

“It’s a date,” Asmo replies, sounding breathless.

“Alright,” says Solomon, voice soft. Asmo can imagine him smiling. “I’ll text you the details tomorrow. Goodnight, Asmo.”





A week later finds Asmo staring at himself in his full length mirror and wondering if not wearing a tie and leaving the top two buttons of his shirt open would be appropriate for a semi-formal event. 

Solomon had texted him the details of the event a week ago, and they talked about it briefly during the rare times their breaks coincided. It was a ten-year highschool reunion, for starters, but the event organizers wanted to do something a bit different so there was meant to be an auction of sorts, where all the proceeds would go to charity. Very noble of them, Asmo thinks. 

After contemplating for a while, Asmo decides it’ll be fine and goes for the extra mile and wears a thin, diamond choker to complete his look. It wraps nicely around his neck, accentuating his collarbones and glinting in the afternoon sun. 

He looks good, if he does say so himself. 

Solomon arrives at his apartment half an hour later, just as Asmo was finishing up with his hair and truth be told, Asmo knows. He knows that Solomon is handsome. Downright attractive, even. He’s known this since they first met. That even as a teen fresh out of puberty, Solomon was gorgeous—with his tall, pretty nose and perfectly shaped lips, wide shoulders and lean figure. Not to mention his eyes, gaze always burning and intense.

Asmo knew all of these and yet, when he opens the door and finds Solomon there, he’s speechless. 

Solomon’s wearing a deep black shirt so tight it pulls taut over his body, and Asmo can practically see the outline of every lean muscle not covered by his suit. The grey pinstripe suit he’s wearing clings to him in all the right places, from the long line of his shoulders to the clip of his waist. The cut of his pants makes his legs look longer than they already are, and his hair’s styled in artful disarray, falling over his eyes almost delicately.

He looks so good like this, makes Asmo's breath catch at the base of his throat.

“Hey,” Solomon smiles. And, after a cursory look at Asmo, his eyes straying a little too long on his neck, Solomon says, “You look amazing.”

“Hi,” Asmo breaths out, a little weak in the knees. He grabs on to his doorframe for support. “You too.”

“Thanks,” Solomon gives him another enigmatic smile, and it has Asmo sucking in a quick breath. “Are you ready to go?”

“Ah, yeah!” Asmo exclaims, shaking his head to straighten out his thoughts. “Let me just grab my wallet.”

The moment he’s turned away from the man in his doorway, Asmo starts fanning himself.

It's too hot for it to be spring.




The drive to the venue was comfortable, at first. It was easy enough to fall back into a long forgotten pattern—easy, mundane talks laced with the ever-present flirting they always had even back in college. 

Looking back, nothing ever did come to fruition, both of them too busy and not willing to commit to anything serious, not when they had so much more to do, so much more to look forward to. When they had dreams bigger than they could possibly handle. 

But Asmo looks at Solomon now—sees the city lights play across his face and reflecting in his hair, sees the small smile playing on his lips when he isn’t mouthing the lyrics of the song playing on the radio—and feels the undeniable attraction bubble up from the deepest parts of him. Something he thought was long-gone and forgotten. 

He doesn’t realize he’s been staring until Solomon catches his eyes briefly, a knowing smirk working its way to his lips but before he can say anything, Asmo hastily turns away, making himself as small as possible against the passenger seat. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when Solomon doesn’t say anything, but even then his nerves are alight, and he feels like he’s on fire. 

It was going to be a long, long night.




When they arrive at the events-place where the reunion was to take place, Asmo tries to diffuse the tension that’s settled between them by asking, “So, what’s our story?”

“Our story?”

“The one we tell all your classmates,” He says, trying to sound nonchalant as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “It wouldn’t do us any good if we mess up on the details.”

“Ah, right,” Solomon nods slowly. “I think it’d be best to stay close to the truth.”

Asmo looks at him from the side of his eyes, a wry smile finding itself on his lips. “What? That we almost dated in college but were too scared to commit?”

“...Yes,” Solomon says, after a while. “Let’s just say we reconnected recently, since we work for the same company. Easy enough, right?”

“Perhaps,” Asmo murmurs. “Also, before we go, answer me this: why did you feel the need to bring a date?”

Solomon laughs at that, shooting him another one of his smiles, “Nothing special, really. It’s just my classmates won’t let up about me not bringing a date last time so I figured I’d just bring one now and tell a few white lies to get them off my case.”

So it didn't have to be me? Is what Asmo almost replies but he stops himself just before he does. He doesn't even know what brought that thought on. 

Instead Asmo hums, laughing at the image of an exasperated Solomon being badgered by his highschool classmates about something so silly. Absentmindedly, he says, “Well, I hope they stop after tonight.”

“They will,” Solomon says, and before Asmo can ask him about what exactly that means, he exits the car and Asmo has no other choice but to follow suit. Solomon rounds the front of his car to get to Asmo and offers his arm the moment he’s close enough.

“Well then,” He says just as Asmo wraps his hands around his arm. He places his hand above Asmo’s and squeezes. “Shall we?”

Asmo giggles at that, the tension falling off his shoulders temporarily. Strangely enough, he feels warm and absolutely giddy, smiling as he says, “Lead the way.”




The event hall is tasteful enough that Asmo doesn’t feel the need to rearrange everything to fit his liking. There’s a small, makeshift stage at the very front and round tables scattered around the hall, all decorated pleasingly. The buffet’s set by the right, and there’s a band playing in the mezzanine adjacent to the entrance. The lights are dimmed just enough to give off a moody and relaxed vibe, but not too dark that people would be tripping over themselves. All in all, not bad for a high school reunion. 

Solomon is popular, it seems, if the amount of people turning their heads in their direction the moment they entered the hall were anything to go by. They don’t even make it to their designated table before they’re being swarmed by Solomon’s old classmates, all trying to give him half-hugs and pats on the back. 

Solomon takes this all in stride, smiling pleasantly and joking around while Asmo stands there looking pretty. 

Not once does Solomon’s hands leave his.

It doesn’t take long for Solomon’s old pals to notice him and Asmo puts on his most charming smile. 

“Oh?” says the blond to their left. He has messy, spiked hair, and has on a suit that should probably have been ironed better but his wide, friendly grin more than makes up for his… unkempt appearance. “Who’s this?”

Asmo returns the grin, plastering himself even closer to Solomon’s side before looking up at him and catching his eyes, tilting his head slightly as if to ask Who am I to you right now, exactly?

There’s a few slight moments where Solomon just stares at him, eyes boring into Asmo’s own, as if he was spellbound by what he was seeing. And then he snaps out of it, smile back in place as he addresses his peers.

“My boyfriend,” he says simply, extracting his arm from Asmo’s grip only to wind it around his waist instead. Asmo’s thankful the dim lighting hides the blush that’s steadily pooling in his cheeks. 

The blond whistles, grin widening. “Finally!” he says, way too happy for something like this. The people around them echo his sentiments.

After Solomon introduces Asmo—name and all—who Asmo assumes to be the emcee for tonight’s program starts speaking into the mic, asking them to be seated before they start in earnest. Solomon leads them to their designated table after they've excused themselves, hand on the small of Asmo's back all the while.




Solomon is a good actor, Asmo realizes a few hours into the reunion. Out of the two of them, Asmo thought he’d be the one leading their act but Solomon proves him wrong time and time again throughout the night. 

It was nothing special, at first—sugary lies about their relationship, of how they almost dated in college but broke it off after graduation. Then they met a few years later after running into each other at work, and reconnected right after.

But then he started calling Asmo sweetie, and baby , started brushing crumbs off of Asmo’s lips, fingers lingering there more than they should. Started talking right into Asmo's ears, voice low and smooth. There was also the hand constantly resting on the curve of his waist, squeezing every now and then even when no one was looking. 

Solomon even went as far as kissing his temple whenever someone asks about their jobs, hands firmly around Asmo’s shoulders as he rattles off on just how good Asmo is, of how amazing he is at his job, of how much he’s done despite being so young. 

It makes Asmo feel absolutely heady, heat building up inside him unbidden. He doesn't know why he feels so overwhelmed, so out of his game. The alcohol in his system doesn’t help one bit, only serves to overwhelm him even more so than he already is. 

But it’s not unwelcome—from the arm around his waist to the warmth steadily pooling inside him, the flutter of his stomach or the look Solomon keeps giving him every so often.

Asmo thinks it's the alcohol, or maybe the familiarity of it all.

Or maybe it’s just Solomon. 

Solomon who’s charming and handsome and attractive, who’s smart and cunning. Asmo never did understand why they didn’t date for real all those years ago, why they never even tried, especially looking at Solomon now.

When most of the program is over and the band starts playing slow songs, the lights dimming even further, Asmo drags Solomon to the dance floor, tripping slightly. Solomon catches him immediately, righting him before settling and wrapping his arms around Asmo’s waist. 

Asmo mirrors his actions, resting his head on Solomon’s chest before they start swaying to the song playing in the background. He can hear Solomon’s heartbeat, like this, a steady, comforting sound. It grounds him, and Asmo feels himself relax, leaning most of his weight against Solomon. 

“Having fun?” Solomon asks after half the song is over. 

Asmo hums in lieu of an answer, closing his eyes and arms tightening around his partner.

Chuckling, Solomon says, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He kisses the top of Asmo's head then, burying his nose in Asmo's hair. The action jolts Asmo out of his reverie, tension flooding back in waves. He feels overwhelmed all over again. 

"Stop that," he says, looking up from where he was resting his head on Solomon's chest.

"Stop what?" Solomon pulls back a bit so he could look down on Asmo properly. 

"Kissing me," Asmo answers. "And calling me 'babe', and—"

"Why?" Solomon cuts him off, voice serious and face devoid of any playfulness. 

The question weighs heavily on Asmo, and he looks away from the man before him, letting out a nervous laugh. 

And instead of answering, Asmo tries to deflect and says, "This is all part of your master plan to seduce me, isn’t it?”

It was meant to be a joke, meant to be playful, meant to dispel the tension that's refused to leave ever since Asmo opened his door and found Solomon standing there, looking like everything he's ever wanted and more.

But it's in vain, because Solomon doesn't smile, nor does he laugh at Asmo's futile attempt to stop this trainwreck in its tracks. 

“And if it is?” Solomon says, voice low and heated. It sends a shiver right down Asmo’s spine. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Asmo inhales a shaky, shaky breath, hands fisting and crumpling Solomon's perfectly pressed suit. None of them seem to care.

Well then.

Asmo looks up at Solomon, eyes lidded, coy smile on his lips. He presses himself impossibly closer to Solomon, stands on his tiptoes, practically mouthing the side of Solomon's neck when he says, "No idea." A laugh. Asmo's hands climbing up Solomon's body before interlocking at the back of his neck. He pulls Solomon down by his collar, their lips a hair's breadth away from touching. When he follows up with, "You tell me," their lips brush. 

Asmo pulls back only to see Solomon looking at him, eyes so dark and fervid. Asmo's breath hitches in his throat. 

“Let’s get out of here.” The tone of Solomon’s voice leaves no room for argument. Asmo can only nod before Solomon’s dragging him out of the hall, barely managing to say his goodbyes to his old classmates as he pulls Asmo through the rows of tables and out the double doors.

Solomon yanks Asmo on top of him the moment they get into his car, slamming his lips on Asmo’s and wasting no time prying his mouth open with his tongue. 

And Asmo lets him, melts into Solomon and kisses him back just as desperate. He lets Solomon rip open his shirt, greedy hands running up and down his sides before they settle at his chest, fingers finding his nipples and squeezing just enough to elicit a sharp keen from Asmo’s throat.

“You drive me crazy,” Solomon noses at his neck, mouthing at the diamond choker there before moving down to suck marks on Asmo’s collarbones. 

Asmo hums, hands moving down Solomon’s body to tug his shirt out from where it's tucked in his pants; runs his hands under it the moment it's free, feels the lean, solid muscle of his stomach and his chest. 

Fuck, Solomon’s so hot.  

The feel of Solomon against him is intoxicating, especially when Solomon grabs his hips and grinds them against his own. Asmo can feel him through his pants, rock hard and straining at the seams. The thought of Solomon inside him makes him feel delirious, and he starts frantically unbuckling Solomon’s belt, clumsy hands trying and failing until he hears Solomon laugh.

“What?” Asmo asks petulantly, still trying to free Solomon from his pants. 

Solomon grabs Asmo’s hands, stopping them from their attempt and undoes his belt himself before leaning up to steal a quick kiss.

“Just glad to see you just as desperate,” he says, leaning back on the car seat to look up at Asmo with a godforsaken smirk. Asmo wants nothing more but to kiss it off his face. But he doesn’t. Instead he gives Solomon a smirk of his own before palming his crotch, delights in the way Solomon’s face crumples under the pressure. 

“I want you in me,” Asmo says almost absentmindedly, finally freeing Solomon from his pants and giving him a few experimental strokes. Asmo likes the weight of it on his palm, likes how Solomon starts cursing when he thumbs the head, bucking up against his hand and wanting more. 

"Fuck, c'mere," Solomon rasps out, pulling Asmo down into another sloppy kiss, hands finding their way into Asmo's pants and undoing them with deft fingers. 

After ridding Asmo of his pants completely, he bypasses Asmo's erection and goes straight for his ass, palms kneading his asscheeks before spreading them apart, one finger coming up to tease his entrance. 

It makes Asmo mewl, back arching at the minute pressure. God, now that he thinks about it, it's been so long . His hectic schedule never permitted anything more, always too tired at the end of every day to even think of doing anything else but sleep. 

"Solomon, please ," Asmo near begs when Solomon does nothing more but toy with his rim. He's so hard it hurts, cock leaking pathetically between them. If he doesn't have Solomon's— 

"Shh," shushes Solomon, hands withdrawing from his ass. Asmo whines at the loss, looking at Solomon in question. 

Solomon just smiles at him, and it's fond and soft, makes Asmo's heart flutter wildly in his chest. 

"I'd like to do this properly," he says, laughing a little, giving Asmo a quick peck on the cheek before reaching behind him and over to the passenger's compartment. He unearths a small packet of lube and a condom, tossing it to the driver's seat. "I don't want to hurt you."

Asmo's thankful it's dark, or else he would have a hard time hiding the awful blush that's coming up to rest on his cheeks. 

"Do you always have lube in your car?" Asmo asks instead, yelping when he stumbles forward after Solomon reclines the car seat further back. 

"Only when I'm with someone I like," Solomon answers smoothly, lightheartedly. His dark eyes betray his tone, though, and it makes Asmo positively shudder. "Now where were we?"




When Asmo wakes up the morning after, it’s to an unfamiliar ceiling and arms around his waist. He feels hair tickling the side of his neck, and when he turns, he’s greeted by a messy mop of white hair. 

That, at least, is familiar. 

Solomon stirs not a moment later, eyes fluttering open slowly, still looking half-asleep. He looks… adorable, like this. The usual sharpness of his eyes, and the smirk on his lips replaced with slow blinks and a yawn. 

It eases a laugh out of Asmo, and he turns in Solomon’s arms before saying, “Good morning.”

Solomon answers him with a groan, pulling Asmo closer. “It’s too early for this,” he mutters, lips brushing against where he has his face pressed against Asmo’s neck. The feel of it has Asmo shuddering involuntarily.

And it’s only then that the events of last night come flooding back in waves, and he doesn’t know why but he feels so oddly flustered by it. He’s thankful Solomon’s still half asleep or else he wouldn’t know how to explain the expression that’s no doubt crossing his face. But beyond that, something else is plaguing his thoughts.

And before he can think much of it, before he can cower out, he starts, “Hey, Solomon?”

“Hmm?” hums Solomon, not even bothering to open his eyes. Asmo’s saved from that, at least.

“What… what are we?”

There’s a pause. Asmo holds his breath, and he can feel his heart thudding wildly against his rib cage. Solomon pulls away just enough to meet his eyes, and this time they’re wide awake. Asmo looks away.

“What you want us to be.” is all he says. 

When Asmo looks back and catches Solomon’s eyes, there’s an emotion he can’t quite place, but it looks a lot like longing, and maybe even hope. It makes Asmo feel hot all over again.

“Then, uhm,” Asmo tries, but he doesn’t know what he wants, exactly. Finds it hard to articulate his feelings regarding all of this.

“You don’t have to think so hard,” Solomon tells him, one hand coming up to cup his cheek and smooth the crease that’s formed between Asmo’s brows. He sounds fond and Asmo finds himself relaxing, nuzzling his face against Solomon’s palm.  “What do you want me to be?”

“That’s…” Asmo tries again. “I’m… I’m really not sure.”

“Answer this, then,” Solomon says. “Do you regret what happened last night?”

The answer for that, weirdly enough, comes easy, “No.”

“Me neither,” says Solomon, looking him straight in the eyes. “And if you’d allow it, I don’t want that to be the last time.” 


Solomon cuts him off immediately, “And before you even think about anything else, what I mean is: I want you to be my boyfriend. For real, this time.”

“I—” Asmo starts, collecting his thoughts and calming his heart before he finally says, “I’d like that.”

“Good, because I wasn’t gonna take no for an answer anyway—” Asmo hits him with a pillow before he can even finish. God, he forgot just how insufferable Solomon could get. 

Sadly, Solomon bests him in terms of strength, and before he knows it, the pillow’s snatched away from him, Solomon throwing it somewhere behind them before climbing on top of Asmo and pinning him against the bed. 

“That’s no way to treat your boyfriend.” Solomon shakes his head, as if disappointed. 

“Shut up,” Asmo says, glaring up at Solomon. His boyfriend’s (he needs to get used to that) not fazed one bit. “Show me, then.”

The grin on Solomon’s face doesn’t promise anything good, but Asmo finds he doesn’t mind it one bit.